Come in From the Cold
by FrozenPaladin
Summary: In an alternate reality where the Ice Queen, Elizabeth Petrikov, has begun to regain the life she lost a thousand years ago, her son takes a duty upon himself to make himself and his family better understood to the inhabitants of Aaa. (Orignially published to my tumblr, prince-of-midwinter)
1. Prologue

When I was young, it struck me as odd how my father would cringe at his own reflection. He would try to hide the expression from me, but I would always notice; I don't think he realized how apparent a grimace is when made with a mouth full of serrated, pointed teeth. I never questioned, however, because I figured that it was a grown-up matter, and that he would let me know the trouble only if it directly concerned me.

However, I did get worried every time I walked in on him shaving. The man would chase his whiskers around furiously with a scavenged, improvised blade, unforgivingly mowing down each little hair and compromising for the close shave in the form of deep, ragged cuts and gouges. The day my mom finally found him an electric razor was one of the happiest days of his life. But even then, he would press the razor too sharply against his jaw and nick himself.

He never liked to wear the finery my mother would buy for him, even though the clothes were perfectly tailored for him. Instead, he'd continually mend, wash, and wear the same, few, tattered pieces of Old World clothing every day. The jacket, shirt, vest, and trousers were all painstakingly patched and repaired, as day after day he'd catch his claws on the sleeves, the buttons, the legs; new rips and tears would appear, and again and again they'd be stitched shut. Lost buttons would be hunted down like heinous criminals, and seldom would my father agree to settle for replacements. Even as a child, I recognized just how absurd this behavior was. The clothes he so carefully guarded didn't even look right on him- they were ill-fitting and large on his frame, and the jacket, more patch than original cloth, was a misshapen thing. Why would a king insist on dressing like a pauper?

I didn't understand until I was fourteen years old that my father's behavior was in fact a series of desperate attempts to retain vestiges of his human life…


	2. Chapter 1

The cave is dark and cold, sealed shut from the outside world. A tall, humanoid figure lies on the floor, curled with her back to the weaker, iced-over cavern opening. Her semi-emaciated features are somewhat bloated, due to her body accommodating for the welcome burden that she carries within her. Her limbs are atrophied from lack of use- she has scarcely moved since entering the cave, eight months ago, and she has not eaten since. But in her mind, instinctively, this is a necessary solitude. She cannot trust anyone, not even Simon.

_ This is the first time she's been apart from her husband since finding him, frozen in time as well as in the literal sense, amongst a group of human survivors in the deepest depths of the Ice Kingdom. He's probably worried sick, with his wife having vanished almost three quarters of a year ago without explanation. Chances are, he will have by now been taken into the care of Prince Gumball until his wife returns, if ever. It wasn't fair, she knows, to leave him so suddenly. What else could she do, however, that would not potentially endanger the secret growing inside of her?_

_ Her entire body shudders horribly as the moment arrives. It's a miracle that her near-fleshless body can still function at this point, never mind the fact that her withered muscles are able to function with unnatural strength in order to perform the act. The sounds of her struggles echo through the closed cavern. When the cries and gasps finally die down, they are replaced by a raw, invigorated wailing- a baby's crying._

In that dark and cold, in a time over a thousand years after the days of her youth, my mother, Elizabeth Petrikov the Ice Queen, gave birth to me.

Childhood in the Ice Kingdom is an absolutely magical experience. You can go sledding and ice skating whenever you want, and there's always someone there to look after you- penguins make for great babysitters and playmates. Actually, I learned how to speak Penguin before I could properly speak Common, much to my father's dismay. Of course, my parents loved me very much, but my mother was always dragging my father out for romantic outings and such (which I don't blame her for wanting to do, considering she had about a thousand years of catching up with my father to do). As a result, I spent countless hours learning how to swim and fish with my penguin friends.

When I was young, I never thought that there was anything wrong with what I was. According to my mother, the Ice Wizards were a small dynasty given dominion over the ice and snow, and the crown that she wore was the mark and source of that power. I was, in fact, quite proud of being a member of such a powerful wizard family, and I knew that someday I would be allowed to share the power of the crown and, with it, fight against tyranny and evil and stuff. I delighted in every physical feature that distinguished me as an Ice Wizard, from the sharp claws on my hands, to my serrated teeth, to my pale, spirit-seeing eyes, to my thick, living hair.

But again, regarding the crown, there was a matter of life in which my father's attitude confused me. Despite the fact that he was clearly a wizard like my mother, he never even touched the crown. Whenever I'd ask him why he didn't use magic, he'd just explain that my mother was far better at it than he, and that he didn't want to take the crown just for the sake of dabbling.

By my eighth year, I found myself wandering all over the Ice Kingdom, although I was always careful to maintain a safe distance from the border of the Fire Kingdom and did leave that small stretch of land untouched. As I grew more skilled at walking, I'd accompany my parents on their walks. There was nothing that I loved more than the snow-blanketed landscape of my homeland, and it gave me no end of joy that I was allowed to explore every inch of it- with one exception. I was forbidden from wandering the lower ice caves. My mother claimed that this rule was put in place to save me from the appetite of the ice worms that wandered rampant at the lower levels, but I found out later that there was a far greater reason for keeping me away from the "roots" of the kingdom.

I was born and raised a wizard, and for fourteen years, I never suspected that, had the wheels of fate turned differently for my parents, I might have been something else entirely.


	3. Chapter 2

_His olive skin is bruised with the unnatural purples and blues of onsetting frostbite. Fighting the urge to pull his hands away from his wife's frigid, bony grasp, he looks her in the eyes._

_"Elizabeth… It won't make me like you, will it?"_

_For a moment, the Ice Queen takes Simon's words with an air of indignation, and stares such daggers at him that he very nearly bursts into tears on the spot. But her gaze quickly softens, and the poisonous irritation is replaced with concern and sympathy._

_"You don't need to worry, Simon. The crown can't affect your mind if you aren't directly linked to it. Just because this ring's spell is powered by the crown doesn't mean that the ring will have the same effects."_

_"You're positive about this?" It seems too good to be true, in Simon's opinion. A spell that will slow his aging and protect him from the bitter cold… surely there has to be some sort of side effect?_

_His wife frowns, thinking._

_"I can't guarantee that the spell will be without consequence, but I know that your mind will remain untouched by the crown._

_Simon nods without a word. He can handle that. So long as he doesn't have to leave her, he'll do whatever it takes._

_The Ice Queen takes a small ice-case from a nearby table, and opens it, taking from within it a simple frosted band inset with small crystals of everfrozen ice. Gently, she reaches out for Simon's hand. As she slips the ring onto his finger, she mutters the incantation to activate the spell._

_"With this ring, I thee wed."_

_Immediately, Simon breathes a sigh of relief as the bitter cold around him fades into the background. Without thinking too much, he leans forward into a passionate kiss with Elizabeth, whose skin now feels natural and warm to him._

_For a few weeks, the spell seems to have worked without a hitch. Simon grows a little paler with the passage of time, but he attributes this to the weak sunlight of the Ice Kingdom. However, he begins to realize the truth as his pallor takes on an ice-blue hue and his hair begins to lose its color. It's fine, he tells himself. He can do this, for Betty. So he silences his crying in his pillow every night, and day by day the magic whittles away his humanity. But as his teeth drop out one by one, to be replaced by a mouthful of serrated fangs, he can contain his anguish no longer, and he finds himself bawling his eyes out in the arms of his Princess. When the magical cataracts start to form in his eyes and the monstrous creatures of the Spirit World become perceivable to him, he looks to Elizabeth for shelter. Slowly, painfully, he warps into a form unrecognizable from his former self, and what bothers him most is the fact that no one else seems to have a problem with this aside from him._

_But no, he tells himself, he shouldn't be bothered by this. It's his choice, and he's doing this so that he won't have to leave Betty. If he's bothered by it, it's all because he isn't tolerant enough of inhuman races. _

_And his tears of fear become tears of self-loathing._


	4. Chapter 3

_The sky is gray with high-floating clouds. The heavens rain down a cool, mid-autumn mist on a young woman as she strides across the college campus. She hasn't changed out of her lab clothes, and her long, white coat hangs down limply, damp from the ongoing drizzle._

_A short distance off, she can see the fencing of the college's organic garden, and she can hear a faint clucking coming from that direction. She's never been out this way; she feels silly admitting it to herself, but she's vaguely terrified of going into the chicken range. After all, harmless as they are, chickens have strong beaks. Not to mention, she doesn't want her coat to smell like chicken refuse when she goes into lab the next day._

_Nevertheless, she ties the dragging ends of the coat up around her waist and waits by the gate. Shortly thereafter, she spots a familiar figure making his way down the gentle grassy slope towards her. He's dressed as nicely as ever, and his movements are awkward as he makes his way across the slick lawn and makes a painstaking effort to avoid falling down._

_"Simon, is today really a good day for this?" Elizabeth called up to the young man._

_"I… whoa!" Simon Petrikov cut off as he fought to regain his balance, the effort of which resulted in him barreling down the rest of the slope in a gravity-forced sprint. He stopped just in front of Betty, blushing._

_"Um, let me try that again. I know it's raining, but I figure that we don't usually get a lot of time off at the same time… aside from study time and meal times, I mean…" He adjusts his glasses. "So… ready to go in and see the chickens?"_

_"I guess," Betty shrugs, "To be honest, I'm not exactly thrilled with the idea, Simon. Chickens sort of make me nervous."_

_"Nervous?! They're just chickens!"_

_"I know, but… I don't know, if I crouch down to pet one, I'm worried that I might sit on another. I don't want to get pecked in the seat of my pants or anything."_

_"And you say that I worry too much," Simon says with a mild air of mischief._

_Betty's cheeks flush red, and she retorts, "I'm not worrying! I just…" Realizing there's really no way to defend herself, she cuts off._

_Simon, meanwhile, reaches through a small hole in the fence and unlatches the first of two gates. He motions for Betty to follow him, and she does, although she's still looking a little uncomfortable. As she moves through the gate, Simon closes it and opens the secondary gate, carefully putting in the way of the opening before any chickens can slip out. Betty follows closely behind him._

_The pen is a wide area that extends far back into the woods. A number of chickens mull about amidst the trees. They are sleek black, soft gold, fluffy white, and mottled brown bundles with beaks and scaly legs. Some even have a dazzling mix of reds and golds in their plumage. It strikes Betty at once how beautiful these creatures are._

_Immediately, the chickens congregate around Simon, much to the indignation of the dominant rooster, Einstein. The tufty-headed male flutters his wings and gives a loud crow, but he keeps his distance as Simon picks up one of the hens. The feathery creature sits still and beautiful in his arms, fat and golden like a half-baked loaf of artisan bread. Other hens flutter around his feet, pecking at his shoes and generally just being chickens._

_Betty giggles at the sight._

_"What is with you and flightless birds? I swear, when we went to visit New Zeland you had the same thing going on with kiwis."_

_"Chickens aren't flightless, technically," Simon points out. "They just need to be very motivated." And he places the hen he's holding on Betty's head._

_"EEK! SIMON! GET IT OFF!" she cowers, ducking her head and trembling in fear… irrational behavior, of course, but she doesn't care. The chicken, startled by the outburst, flaps its wings furiously and jumps, fluttering gently to the ground._

_"See?"_

_"Simon…" Betty gasps for breath, caught between exasperation and hilarity, "Sometimes I wonder what goes on in your head."_

_"You don't need to be scared of them, Betty. Here," he picks up another golden hen- they seem to be the most willing of the hens to be held- and places the bird in the young woman's outstretched arms. Betty watches the chicken quietly, while the quivering bundle in her arms looks between her and Simon curiously._

_"You know that no matter what you say, I'm still convinced that you're the king of flightless birds, right?"_

_"As you say so, Princess."_

_The couple leaves again after about a quarter of an hour (with Betty teasingly complaining to Simon that he owes her a new pair of shoes), and they head back up the hill. Halfway back to the main school building, they come across a pile of crushed ice, supposedly from a cooler, although it has the fine consistency of snow. The pile is fairly stable and not all that melted. It's too wonderful of an opportunity._

_Thus ensues a mid-October snowball fight._

When I was six years old, Prince Gumball came to visit the Ice Kingdom and announced to my mother that he thought I ought to be properly educated. I can remember the day vividly, considering how one of my penguin playmates had lost their temper and I therefore had a badly broken nose. My mother was already in a bad mood, and Gumball's proposition didn't help her mood. I believe her fear was that I would be "indoctrinated" by the candy prince and grow more distant from her as a result. Fortunately for Gumball, my dad was brave enough to intervene, and within a month I was attending biweekly classes in the Candy Kingdom, along with the other young princes of Aaa.

Now, it took quite a while for the other princes to trust me. After all, my mother was essentially the boogeyman of young Aaa royalty. Whenever a child misbehaved, they'd get a story from their parents about how the Ice Queen would swoop down from an icy storm cloud and take them away. Even the older princes, who knew that my mom had (mostly) retired from her prince-nabbing ways, looked at me like I was something disgusting.

All the same, I made friends over time, although I'd seldom see them outside of classes and royal get-togethers. As much as I love my homeland, it isn't the sort of place that outsiders enjoy visiting. So even after my schooling began, I really only had one real non-penguin playmate.


	5. Chapter 4

_"It's an amazing piece, isn't it?"_

_"What sort of stones are those? Rubies?"_

_"Definitely not."_

_"Garnets?"_

_"They're too big to be garnets. This tiara is unlike anything else that I've ever seen, Betty."_

_Simon Petrikov holds the antique up, letting the gems inset in it catch the light of the flickering candles. The red facets glimmer in rainbow colors. It's a wonderfully calm evening, and the professor has just returned from a trip to Scandinavia, where he went to inquire about a historical find made by a local fisherman. Now, as his fiancé leans against his shoulder, relishing his presence and listening intently, he shows off the find. The room is dimly lit and warm. Both Simon and Betty are incredibly content in this moment._

_"It's a strange piece," Simon mused, "Artifacts from Scandinavian cultures tend to be more than this. I mean, it's a beautiful piece, but generally, Norse metalwork tended to be more ornate. I guess we'll just have to wait on carbon dating before we can figure out more about it."_

_Betty smirked mischievously, and pretended to scold him._

_"Simon Petrikov! Are you telling me that you've been dating carbon behind my back?"_

_"What? No!" Feigning being flustered, he retorted, "That's not my job! The lab guys are in charge of that."_

_"Oh, okay," Betty laughed, causing her fiancé to blush. Simon looked from Betty, to the crown, and back to Betty. An idea formed in his mind. Normally, he wouldn't condone such things, but…_

_"It would be even more beautiful on a beautiful princess, don't you think?"_

_"Wh-what?! Are you serious, Simon? I'm not sure if…"_

_"It's fine. I mean, no, I really shouldn't play around with something like this, but… nothing could really happen to it. It's an artifact, not a crime scene. Wearing it for a moment or two won't do any harm."_

_"Well, okay," she smiles at him._

_"I guess this counts as a proper coronation, right, Princess?"_

_She laughs, and he lowers the crown onto her head._

_Immediately, she shoves him away, throws herself off the couch, and drops to her knees, screaming at thin air and begging for mercy._

_"Betty?!"_

_"Please… no, don't hurt him… hurt me instead, I can take it… please! No! Don't… don't do this… I need him… don't take him from me… PLEASE!" She lets out a wail of utter agony, and begins to cry uncontrollably._

_"Why… why did you… Simon, I'm so sorry… I couldn't save you…"_

_"I'm right here, Betty. Betty?"_

_She doesn't seem to hear him. Anguished sobs cause her to shake uncontrollably._

_"…Betty?"_

_He stays beside her, trying to comfort her, but it's another hour before she seems to regain awareness of her surroundings._

_"Wh-what… where…?"_

_"Betty?"_

_"Simon?! SIMON!" she throws her arms around him and nearly knocks him over._

_"I saw… these things… and they… took you, and… I begged and pleaded… but they… they… they…"_

_Simon can take a guess from Betty's expression as to what she isn't saying._

_The next day, he takes her to go see a doctor. While there was no logical cause of Betty's mental breakdown, Simon would rather like to know whether or not he should be worried for the sake of his fiancé's brain. But when the CAT scans come back negative, he feels no sense of relief; in the twenty-four hours after the first incident, Betty has experienced seven major panic attacks, and the majority of those seem to have involved Betty losing track of her surroundings. Two of those times, she screamed about horrible monsters. Once, she attacked Simon, shrieking that she "would not let him have the crown."_

_As much as it sickens him to think that Betty's mind might not be altogether _there_, he makes an appointment to get her some psychiatric help. This effort, however, proves just as fruitless, as Betty becomes oddly, unnaturally calm whenever anyone aside from Simon is around, and Betty herself refuses to admit that anything is wrong. All that the psychiatrist can really do to assuage Simon's pleadings is to prescribe some light-dosage anxiety medication._

_After that, Betty scarcely leaves the house. Simon stays by her side, trying to make sure that she remembers to eat and get proper rest, even as the woman experiences further lapses of personality and sometimes goes as far as to beat her future husband. He doesn't resist and he doesn't scream; he simply whispers his love for her and cries softly into his own hands._

_When she's lucid, however, Betty seems to desire nothing more than to hold on to Simon. She knows that there's something wrong, and he's the only person she feels like she can confide in._

My first experience in using magic was an exhilarating one, and, admittedly, it's probably what I would consider as my first disobedient teenage act.

My mother rarely went anywhere without her crown, but for once, my father had convinced her to go on a walk without it, stating that she would probably be more like herself without it. Well, I didn't know what that meant, but as I had never had the nerve to ask my mom for permission to use the crown, it suited me well that a chance had opened up like this. As soon as I was certain that my parents were going to be out for a while and wouldn't come back for anything, I took the crown from the ornate table where my mom had left it. As soon as I touched it, I could feel it calling to me. The crown was never meant to have more than once master, you see, since it reshapes only one creature into the ruler of ice at a time, and so it responds readily to the touch of anything and anyone that it recognizes as an ice wizard. Again, though, I didn't know anything about the crown at the time except that it gave the wearer incredible magical power.

As soon as I put it on my head, the power rushed through my body like a river bursting its banks. Tiny bolts of ice lightning played around my fingertips like hyperactive flambits. The feeling was so perfect, and without thinking, my hair unbraided itself and I flew.

I only half knew what I was doing, but that was no problem. The crown guided my actions and made sure that I didn't hurt myself. Laughing, I went over to the window and flew, up and out, into the morning air. I rose higher and higher, taking my entire home into my view. The ice and snow glittered like diamonds in the light of dawn. I had never seen anything so beautiful.

I totally had to tell my babysitter, Fionna, about this one.


	6. Chapter 5

_Betty's condition only became more and more terrifying and bizarre as the months passed. Stranger still, what started out as a gentle snow flurry over the course of several days grew into a steady snowfall; the accumulation was still slow, considering how the mid-October ground still had a little warmth to it, but the days were getting colder, and every passing day, the snow in the roads always stood a little higher by the time the snowplows came to clear it away than it had in previous days. "The Unearthly Storm," the newscasters were calling it, on account of how the storm on radar didn't seem to be affected by any of the surrounding weather patterns- and the storm didn't seem to be anywhere on the verge of exhausting itself, either._

_Simon can't help but think that his fiancé's condition is somehow linked to the unnatural snowstorm. After all, Betty's mysterious transformation seems to be related to the cold as well; her temperature has already dropped down to around five degrees Celsius below the human norm, and her skin is taking on an odd, bluish hue. Although, perhaps the strangest change was the milky cataracts that have formed over Betty's eyes in a matter of weeks. Somehow, they don't obscure her vision in the slightest, despite the fact that her eyes are now little more than featureless, white orbs- no exposed iris to speak of, no pupil in sight._

_"I don't understand, either," she says over tea one afternoon. "I ought to be totally blind right now, but the irony of this statement is that I can easily see well enough to give a self-diagnosis. Although my vision is a little darker, and oddly tinted. It's sort of like looking through those one-way windows, I guess."_

_Simon avoids suggesting further medical help; at this point, Betty would probably end up getting shipped off to some top-secret government lab for testing. Or Torchwood. Erm, she would get shipped there, rather. Except Torchwood isn't a real thing, he told himself, don't be silly. And now you're going off on a tangent._

_After two months, the storm has turned into an all-out blizzard, and public officials are urging all London residents to evacuate. But Betty refuses to leave, for the sake of the rest of the fleeing populace. "Go on if you will, Simon," she says definitively, "but I would only end up bringing the storm with me." She says this with an air of certainty, as if she KNOWS this to be the truth. It isn't a guess in her mind, anymore, and it takes all of Simon's willpower to suppress his curiosity, to refrain from asking Betty whether or not it was the voices that convinced her that the storm burying London was her doing._

_The news reports coming in on their hand-crank radio have lately dismissed the storm as old news. Everyone knows that London is donefor, that doesn't sell papers anymore. Instead, every news channel bombards its listeners with the news of escalating violence around the globe, peace talks going foul, and unearthed weapons stockpiles. Little countries that have been in conflict with each other for decades are now coming out and threatening each other with nuclear annihilation, and world powers are taking sides. Some sensationalists are even going so far as to say that the Mayans were right, despite the fact that calendar extensions had been found a few months before. The Apocalypse is coming, they say. The Rapture. Ragnarok. The end of the world._

_Simon pops the question out of the blue one evening._

_"Betty," he starts nervously, "We've been engaged for quite a while, and, well… I'm not sure how much time we have left here. You know, everyone's talking about the end of the world and whatnot, and… I mean, I was hoping that this moment would be more romantic, but… That is, we don't need to rush this just because things look bad…"_

_"Simon," Betty interrupts, "I think it's about time that we get married."_

_"…I guess what I… I mean, yes, thank you, Princess. That's exactly what I was trying to say."_

_They wade through the snow for several blocks. The waste-deep snow is too much for Simon's low physical endurance, however, so instead he tracks down a toboggan and a flagpole, and he poles the two of them together along like some sort of arctic gondolier. It's slow-going, but Betty is still warm enough that the two of them can huddle together, and Simon brought plenty of hot tea in a thermos. Eventually, they track down a pastor who's stayed with his church in order to offer comfort and aid to the stranded._

_The wedding is quick, and certainly not the glorious spring occasion that Betty had been dreaming of all this time, but it's enough. Simon pulls out the rings that had belonged to his parents, and when he slips the ring on Betty's finger, she feels oddly comforted. If the world really is going to end, at least they'll be together when it happens._

_In the next month, Simon takes to departing the townhouse from the second-story window, in order to look for survivors and supplies. Betty feels awkward about letting more mouths to feed into their home, but Simon's eagerness is too much, and she eventually gives in. So he wanders off everyday wearing three coats and two pairs of pants, and every now and again he brings back cans of food and other supplies. Twice, he brings back survivors; another married couple, Jenny and John, and a middle-aged bachelor named Elton._

_Reluctant as she was before, Betty soon finds that she enjoys having company. Jenny is an excellent conversationalist, and John and Elton are actually very helpful in going on supply runs. So for the next month or so, the five of them live relatively happily inside the generator-equipped townhouse, although by mid-month the snow piles faster than they can clear it and the second-floor exit is blocked._

_The first bombing wipes a small Mediterranean costal town off the map._


	7. Chapter 6

_My royal blue schoolbag smacks down against the polished tile floor as they toss it away. I hear the fragile bottles of ink smash, and my bag starts to bleed black. They close in on me, and I don't have time to think. I'm gasping, crying out in terror, as there is a sharp cracking noise echoing in my ears, and a pain in my ribs. Then comes another pain, lower, beneath my ribcage. Blood wells up in my throat. Then a shove, and I'm going down, down, down. Then a whiteness as my vision cuts out for a moment, followed by a sickening crunch and a throbbing, blistering pain as my vision returns, albeit vision that leaves the world swimming before my eyes. I lie there, letting the tears come. They laugh. I hear the words "freak" and "witchspawn." Then comes one more blow in a very sensitive place. I writhe and shriek and foam at the mouth. They laugh a little more, before they decide that they're done with me for now. They leave and I stay._

I try not to retain negative memories, and more often than not I fail to recall the faces of my tormentors. Some details, however, remain lodged in my brain, clear as day, like flickering flashes of ultra-bright light. My brain taking snapshots of fear, taking in critical, sharp details in order to heighten my chances of survival.

_I'm in the infirmary. Blood is running down one side of my head. My white hair is matted with red. The wounds hurt less than my failed attempt at a hello._

_"Fractured skull and a broken rib, some bruising of the abdominopelvic organs as well. For goodness sakes, Andrew, please never run down the stairs again right after they've been polished. Your body isn't built for taking heavy impact. I know you're immortal, but that doesn't make you invulnerable."_

_"Okay, Prince Gumball."_

_He patches me up and sends me on my way. I wander down the halls, unsteady on my feet, making for the front doors of the palace where my mom will meet me to take me home._

_I didn't tell the prince what really happened. That would just cause more trouble. It doesn't matter, anyway. Boys will be boys, after all._


	8. Chapter 7

Well, Prince Gumball made an exciting announcement today. Apparently, after a long series of negotiations and conferences between major royal powers from distant lands, Aaa has been chosen to host a gala in which kingdoms from all around the planet will send their delegations to attend. It's sort of a huge deal that the gala is going to be in Aaa, considering how we're actually a fairly tiny collection of kingdoms in comparison to some of the greater nations out there. Prince Gumball's amazing reputation and scientific knowledge alone won us this honor.

Of course, this means that all classes and activities at the Candy Academy for Young Princes are going to be focused on making the Candy Kingdom ready for this event. That's right; this event is going to be too big to be hosted just at the palace. The entire city is being decorated and cleaned up in preparation for this gala. We'll have flags and banners up everywhere, and different areas of the city will be festooned with the names and emblems of all the visiting kingdoms, organized according to the nation that they are presided over by.

Okay, and I haven't even told you the coolest bit: the gala is going to feature musical performances, and "Fangs, Fire, and Ice" was invited to perform. Yep, that's right! I get to play the drums in front of delegates from halfway around the world.

Glob, I just realized how scary that is.

I'm not sure if I can muster up the courage to do that.

I mean, fighting dragons is one thing, but playing the drums in front of international delegations… what if they don't even like the drums?! What if they communicate using drums in their native land, and I accidentally play something that offends them?!

Okay, I'm calming down, that was a ridiculous thing to worry about just now.

When I told Matt the news, he joked that I might finally meet a girl at the gala. Yeah, like that'll ever happen. I have enough trouble talking to girls from my own country; Glob, even blogging with girls makes me nervous (although not as nervous as when Matthew sneaks up behind me and grabs my braid.) Still, he's kind of right. I'll be meeting all sorts of new people at the gala! This is honestly a great opportunity for me to exercise my princely duties as a diplomat and a representative of the Ice Kingdom. Not to mention, these foreign princes and princesses wouldn't have heard my mom's tales of terror. I'm going into this with a completely clean slate!

Anyway, that's the big news for today. Mom's still been flipping out a little more than usual, if I haven't mentioned that in the course of this week, please forgive me. Dad's thinking we might need to take her to see Doctor Princess soon, although after what happened last time, I don't think he'll be happy to see my mom again so soon. Still, we'll be ready for any mishaps that might occur this time.

Oh, and how could I forget to mention that I was bedridden all of last week with Frost-Thaw Flu? Seriously, I get nauseous just looking at half-melted snow now, considering what it reminds me of. Prince Gumball explained that, if the blood samples he took from me a few months back were any indication, my bodily fluids are able to flash-freeze as a defense mechanism. But Frost-Thaw Flu is like antifreeze in the body, both setting off the defensive triggers and inhibiting their working properly. The resulting nausea produced by my stomach acids repeatedly refreezing, expanding and retracting, was predictable enough, but nevertheless completely undesired. Thank Glob that Gumball found an antibiotic as quickly as he did.

That's about it for today, I guess.

—

_Betty looks so amazing in her black formal dress. Simon nearly lets his jaw drop as the woman opens her dormitory door and he beholds his first glimpse of the medical student in formal attire. Yes, he has to admit that in general as Betty's boyfriend he's somewhat biased- they wouldn't be going on this outing together otherwise- but this is his first time seeing her in anything but casual or ever-so-slightly-dressy clothing, and frankly, he finds her to be absolutely ravishing._

_"G-good evening, Elizabeth," Simon stammers, unintentionally making a little bit of a courteous bow. He can't help it; he's chivalrous by habit. "Are you ready to depart?"_

_"I am. You look absolutely dashing, if I might say so. The epitome of class, as always," the woman's eyes glimmer with amusement._

_"You really think so?" Simon looks himself over self-consciously, trying to hide the faint tinge of a blush creeping into his olive cheeks, "I think that I might have put too much polish on my shoes, but otherwise I feel pretty confident about tonight." He faces her and smiles. "Shall we be off?"_

_Betty nods and they depart the dormitory. Simon offers his hand to her and she takes it, as he guides her down the sidewalk, to where his roadster is parked. It's a classy vehicle maintained with almost as much meticulous effort as the newly appointed professor puts into maintaining his own appearance. That is to say, quite a lot. With his free hand, he opens the door on the passenger's side, motioning for Elizabeth to get in. She does so with a little difficulty, having to make sure that her heels don't snag on her dress, and that the ends of the dress don't get stuck in the door itself. This produces a momentary air of mild irritation about her, which Simon finds almost as endearing as the girl's laugh. He catches himself wondering stupidly how a girl can look so cute when she's frustrated. Blushing again at the unspoken thought, he closes the passenger-side door and walks over to the driver's side. He opens the door and slides in without a word, still blushing._

_After fishing his keys out of his coat pocket, Simon fires up the roadster._

_"And we're off to the Society of Antiquaries," he announces with a playful air of grandeur. "Gosh, I really hope that Bruce isn't there," he adds in a more irate tone. Bruce Geuse was a news reporter who, it seemed, spent all of his free time tearing down the historical community for being "really pretty boring," as he would often put it. Simon, whom he frequently referred to as a "silly man," was his favorite target._

_Betty wrinkled her nose at the mention of Bruce. "I hope he is there. I'd love to give him a piece of my mind." Giving Simon a meaningful look, she adds, "Don't worry. I can be painfully civil when voicing my displeasure."_

_"…I'll make sure that I'll never cross you when you're angry like that," he laughed. "Ah, we're not far off now. The Circus is a maze if you don't know where you're going."_

_"Good thing I'm not the one driving, then."_

_Their conversation continues until they arrive outside of the Society, where a wide assortment of people is already gathered around the entrance. Simon opposed the idea of valet parking, as his roadster was an antique and he wouldn't allow anyone else, besides Betty of course, to lay their hands on it._

_"I'll just park off to the side. There really is no need for a grand entrance."_

_He parks the car in a wider spot and, after pocketing the keys once more, he exits the roadster and heads around to the other side, opening the door for Elizabeth. After disentangling the length of her dress from its self-made heap on the floor, she climbs out of the vehicle, Simon lending her a hand._

_They head towards the front, Simon leading the way. It isn't long before, sure enough, they are accosted by a rather plump, gray-haired man with beady eyes and somewhat protruding lips. Mr. Geuse seems to have neglected to shave for this event, and his manner of dress is haphazard, making all the more evident his lukewarm respect for the Society of Antiquaries and the historical community at large. He grins at Simon and chortles._

_"Wonderin' when you would show up, Petrikov! Could I take a picture of the silly man and his… lovely lady?" Bruce suggestively raises his brow at the woman on Simon's arm, making the antiquarian boil with rage._

_Betty raises an eyebrow, but she immediately puts on an overly-honeyed smile. A faint glimmer in her eyes, known by her associates as "the danger sign," is the only warning that Betty is on the verge of taking the reporter apart with all the sympathy of a starving cobra. "You must be Mr. Guese, correct? I have been absolutely dying to meet you, ever since that glowing coverage of Simon's more recent discoveries. I must say, your criticisms and opinions are absolutely revolutionary, coming from someone that clearly has an absolutely flawless background in history and antiquary. Tell me, what is your opinion of the excavation of the Armenian Pantheon?" She asks the last bit with a straight face, waiting for him to make up something just to sound educated. A pantheon, of course, is not a physical object as such, at least not one that can be excavated. But it does sound like "Parthenon."_

_Bruce stutters at her question. "I'm sorry, wha-? Hey Petrikov, do you know this hotness is sayin'?"_

_The antiquarian purses his lips at the man's comment, before pushing Bruce aside gently as he possibly can. "I'm sorry, Bruce — perhaps I can speak to you another time?" He then leads Elizabeth to a hallway, where his donations are put out for display purposes._

_"I'm rather sorry for that, Elizabeth."_

_"Oh, that's all right. Actually, that was kind of cathartic."_

_Simon chuckles at her comment. "Anyway, was there anything you wanted to see here in the Society. I have made many donations, but I'm certain that you wouldn't want to see them, or do you?"_

_"Oh, I definitely would!"_

_The two of them wander around for a bit, as Simon explains each of the artifacts on display in turn and Elizabeth makes repetitive "Indiana Jones" jokes. However, it isn't long before the two of them are interrupted._

_"Oh, hello again, Bruce. Come to see my 'silly collection' again, have you?" Simon asked the greasy editor, his tone of voice growing more unfriendly than the last encounter._

_"Nah, Petrikov. I came to ask the lady if I could take her off your hands." And with a quick flash of his hand, he tries to forcibly grab Elizabeth, but not before Simon slaps his hand away._

_"Bruce, what are you doing? That's rude, and unbefitting."_

_"Would you care to explain yourself, Bruce?" Elizabeth asks calmly, the fire in her eyes rising from a flicker to a steady burn._

_"I mean, who'd want to hang with Petrikov here? He's delusional as s***."_

_Simon clenches his fists, on the verge of breaking. Normally, he's an advocate of turning the other cheek, but he's considering making an exception, particularly since this foul excuse for a journalist is harassing Elizabeth._

_However, Betty beats him to the punch, practically spitting her retort in Bruce's face._

_"I doubt that excrement is capable of delusion, Mr. Geuse, unless you have shocking evidence on the contrary. Perhaps you have neglected to notice that I, as Mr. Petrikov's date, was not dragged here in handcuffs. If that metaphor is lost on you, then let me explain in more literal terms; I am here with Simon of my own free will, specifically because I find his matter of study fascinating, his conversations engaging, and his discoveries earth-shattering and curious. Now if you wouldn't mind, my date and I would like to enjoy the rest of the evenings without being pursued out of your need to satisfy your own sick fantasies and your lack of ability to attract female attention."_

_The two men just look at her. Slowly, Simon lets go of his tight hold on Bruce's arm. This isn't the last he'll be dealing with the man; he would be making sure that Bruce's superiors at the office would know what transpired here tonight. The greasy man runs off in embarrassment, turning to make a rude gesture at Simon, before disappearing through the doors at the end of the hall._

_Simon sighs as he watches the man depart._

_"I'm afraid that I must apologize again, Elizabeth. Are you alright?"_

_"I'm perfectly fine, Simon," the woman smiles, turning her head towards him with just enough speed that her carefully-done curls bounce a little. She tilts her head coyly and laughs. "It would take more than Mr. Geuse's abrupt manner to make me overly uncomfortable." She places her hand lightly against his. "But I appreciate your valiant defense against his more vile advances."_

_"You're welcome, Elizabeth…" he straightened himself. He pauses, noting that she hasn't moved her hand from his._

_The hall is quiet, and they are alone._

_"You know, Simon, sometimes I feel like we were always meant to meet. From the first time we met, something just clicked. Like we were just right for each other." Her fingers close around his hand, and she turns to look at him. His glance meets her, and he moves in a little closer._

_He whispers in her ear, "I feel the same way, Princess."_

_"Call me that again."_

_"As you wish, Princess…"_

_Her full lips part slightly into a wider smile, a thin line of white peeking out from behind them. "My handsome antiquarian," she replies teasingly._

_Simon can't hold it back any longer, as he brushes his forehead up against hers. The smell of her hair intoxicates him, her skin as soft as silk and as pink as a freshly ripened peach. Endorphins, he can almost hear her saying, are one heck of a drug. Typical doctor. He can tell that she's thinking it, what with that mischievous look in her eyes. But hang the biology._

_Slowly, gently, he kisses her rose-petal lips._

_The antiquarian slowly pulls away from the woman, but not before he brushes the hair from her face with a thumb. "Ah…I… was that too much?"_

_"No. That was absolutely perfect." She smiles, her face glowing with happiness._

_Suddenly, a flash of light flares into life from behind them. It appears that Bruce has been spying on the two. With a cheeky grin on his face, he blurts out, saying, "You're so screwed, Petrikov." And he runs off with naught but another rude gesture as a goodbye._

_After a moment's confusion, Simon begins to apologize profusely._

_"Oh no, I'm so sorry, Princess." Simon dabs at his forehead with the cloth from his pocket. "I hadn't meant for Bruce to spy on us like that. Are you going to be alright?"_

_"Simon," her tones shifts a little into exasperation, "Stop worrying so much. I swear, you apologize for almost everything. It's adorable, but it gets sort of absurd after a while!"_

_"I'm… you have a point, there." He covered his face with a hand, but not before he reached out for her own._

_"Actually," he adds, "I've been meaning to ask you something for a while. I've been putting it off out of uncertainty, and I was sort of hoping that we were almost to the right moment. But then Bruce showed up and… well, I suppose I might as well ask now… I mean…"_

_He mops his brow again._

_"Well, Betty… when two people… erm, that is to say… when… um…"_

_He gives up and just skips to dropping to his knees, pulling the ring out of his pocket._

_"Will you marry me?"_


	9. Chapter 8

_Her transformation is very nearly complete. Only the most fantastic part of the metamorphosis needs take place._

_Every muscle in her body screams out in agony; they have been stretched to their limits. Her whole body is racked with aches and pains. Her breathing is haggard, labored, and weak. Even her heart is barely working, and every weak beat fails to adequately circulate the blood through her veins. She is exhausted, unable to go on. Yet she's been staying absolutely still for days. _

_The young Ice Queen lies in the snow, half-buried by the pale flakes that have been falling for who knows how long. Until recently, she had been wandering around aimlessly, hoping to find something, anything, in the vast white expanse. But now, the last of her strength has left her. The magic coursing through her veins has scraped the muscle from her bones like a ravenous hyena starved for flesh. There is literally nothing left in her. She's a husk of skin and bone. _

_Even the muscle tissue in the walls of her organs is beginning to break down. This is the end, she can feel it coming. Every breath she draws comes at the cost of greater effort. She would cry out if she could draw enough oxygen to make herself audible over the wind, but even if she had more control over her exhalations other than simply letting the weight of her other organs crush the air out of her again, what good would crying out do? She is alone, alone in this barren expanse of ice. Everyone else has been turned to dust and scattered to the wind in the rays of nuclear blasts. Only this curse, with its bizarre, powerful magic, keeps her whole- if she can even be considered as such._

_But even this might not be so for much longer. The Ice Queen's breaths grow shallower by the second, and the world around her blurs. She spirals down, down, down into the dusky oblivion of fading consciousness, until, hanging at the fringes, she finally lets go. Death finally allows her reprieve. _

_Or so she thinks._

_What happens next occurs after a span of time unknown to her. For all she knows, she may have been unconscious for mere seconds, or perhaps many years. There is no knowing. But at the moment Death finally seems to take notice of her, she is snatched from his grip. She is hurtled back to the waking world as a star rocketing through the cosmos. A force like lightning shoots through her, setting her whole body alight with overwhelming quantities of life force. Every vein comes alive with pain like icy slivers. An unearthly scream escapes her as her entire body is filled with unnatural power. Her organs begin to function again. Mere threads of remaining muscle are charged with enough of this power to make them capable of moving entire limbs, although the pain of doing so is not entirely numbed by the magic. Little by little, over a course of hours, as the witch lies still in shock from what is happening to her, magic weaves itself into every fiber of her being, taking the place of absent and ruined tissue. _

_The chains of immortality are now in place. She'll belong to the curse forever._


	10. Interlude

It's a nice night out here. A recent bout of warm (for the Ice Kingdom) weather have melted and smoothed the sheets of flat, river-bordering ice like a natural zamboni. The skies are clear, but the first signs of frosty weather blow in the air, as powdery diamonds of ice dancing around in the lower atmosphere cast a halo of color around the bright, full moon. The stars shine bright and sharp, their glow undisrupted by anything save for the fine lunar lady that shares in their dance. The river flows at a steady, slow pace, with neither a trickle nor a roar, but rather, a sound in between, as if the water's motion is a strange sort of steady, relaxed, ongoing exhalation. The night is simultaneously calm and yet full of vigorous motion. I lean back against the sleek, lovely ice, and I listen to the hushed sounds of the wandering frost.

A thousand years ago or so, none of this was here. The city, which lies far below us, would be caught up in far more frantic motion. Unlike this natural symphony, the hustle and bustle of streetcars would rattle the air with the sound of rubber scraping pavement, crack the calm with blaring horns, choke the air with the toxic breath of ravenous, captive flames. A million city lights, mere pinpricks in the grand scheme of the cosmos, would dwarf the light of the stars, merely through the convenience of being closer and thus not having to cast their light through the grand barrier of the atmosphere. And the breath of the river would be a ragged wheeze, choked with refuse, hacking and coughing. And all this noise, noise, NOISE would rise to a crescendo, until the NOISE would be a ROAR of plane engines, an overwhelming RUSH of flame and gloriously lethal white light and heat…

A song played too loud has to get softer eventually, even if that means it stops altogether. Nowadays the song is different- much kinder to the ears.


	11. Chapter 9

My head is still reeling after what happened at the Gala. I... Okay, you know how I'm always coming to terms with the fact that I don't know how to talk to girls, and how every time I get emotionally involved, I either take it out of proportion, or else the girl I'm dating is driven insane or attacked? Well, it happened again- a girl flirted with me. I... Why do they talk to me? I mean, I was excited that the Kingdom would be full of visitors that wouldn't judge me on behalf of my mother's history, but... I wasn't expecting a girl to approach me with those motives. There's a reason why I'm not the poster boy for our band. I'm scrawny, I'm cold, I have an abrasive voice... and it makes even less sense that this princess in question is from the Tropic Kingdom, on the Southwestern Continent. Princess Venus, she's called. She's a plant princess with little white flowers growing all over her green head-vines. She's humanoid, sort of... about as close to human-looking as I am, maybe a little less. Except she doesn't have arms. Instead, she has these prehensile vines, which can extend from anywhere on her torso, or so she says. And like I said, she's from the tropics, so I don't know why she took a fancy to me. I mean, maybe I'm taking this out of proportion; maybe she just likes to flirt. Girls are really hard to understand.

Let me explain with a little more detail. You see, the band I'm a part of, called "Fangs, Fire, and Ice," had just finished performing a short segment as a part of the "Music of Aaa" presentation that Prince Gumball had come up with as part of the opening ceremonies. We were heading offstage, and I braced myself for the inevitable throngs of girls that always appears post-concert to mob our lead guitarist, Matthew Abadeer (who, from what I can discern from his fanbase, is one of the most charismatic guys in all of Aaa.) Sure enough, the flock closed in, and as usual, I moved to the side, to avoid succumbing to claustrophobia. I have a few fans myself (Matt says that I probably attract the sensitive, meek girls because I'm "pathetic and unassuming," which I call out as total duck-doody), and sometimes they come over to say hello and ask questions. After a few minutes, however, Matt disentagled himself from his squeeing flock and float over to me, nudging me playfully in the ribs.

"Hey," he said cooly, lounging in midair, "I think you've got an admirer, Nerdrew. There's a girl over there that's been staring at you ever since you sat down." He nodded in one direction, and I noticed a figure standing a short distance off, staring right at me with lamplike, yellow eyes. I approached her, Matt going back to his own business (at this point the girls were chanting "kiss, kiss, kiss!" and I could only figure that Matt had coerced Pyris into engaging in a little fanservice), until I was just a couple meters away. At that point I hesitated, unsure of what to do. I'm not good at starting conversations with girls; I can engage in a lengthy conversation under normal circumstances, but as soon as it becomes "a conversation with a girl," my ability to complete basic sentences deserts me. I mean, I can talk with girls, I just can't... well, you know. And that's how my mind goes after a concert, because as I said, we're always swarmed by Matt's fangirls. Still, the girl didn't look like she was going to say anything, either, so we were sort of stuck. I couldn't read her. Her lily-white skin showed no trace of any blood tinge, so there was no checking to see if she was blushing. Her eyes were blank, sort of similar to mine, and anyone that's ever had a chat with me will tell you how greatly that throws off trying to read a person's expression; the motion of the eyes and the dilation of the pupils are especially telling. She didn't even seem to need to blink. Had her vine-hair not stirred in the wind at that instant, I might have mistaken her for a wax sculpture, she was so still.

We stood there in silence for several moments, sizing one another up. Then, she took another few steps towards me. Or at least, she moved towards me across a distance akin to a few steps; her movement was a little too graceful and smooth to be the result of a jerky form of locomotion like walking, and her ground-length, white dress made it impossible to see how she was actually moving herself forward. I sort of suspected roots.

Once she had moved close enough that we were standing almost nose to nose (which, you must note, is not all that close when at least one individual involved is an ice wizard), a vine reached out from a frilled, floral protrusion around her neck, and it touched my face, running tenderly down my cheek. I... I really wasn't sure what to think of this, but it gave me goosebumps, and as much as I feel shy in admiting to it, I was sort of turned on by this incredible stranger.

Finally, she spoke.

"Are you a god?"

This question threw me off. Had... had she seriously just asked if I was...?

"Erm, no," I answered, muttering, "I'm just a wizard. An ice wizard."

"An ice wizard," she repeated, curiously. Her voice was mild and breathy, almost as if she were dreaming on her feet. "Are those not gods?"

"N-no. I'm just... I'm just me, milady. Not a god. Just... just... um..."

"Are you certain of what you are?" The vine rose up and down, stroking my hollow cheek. I was starting to feel dizzy.

"No... milady... um... I'd hate to be rude, but... that thing you're doing... it's sort of..."

"Are you uncomfortable?" She leaned in closer. I was already dizzy from nerves, and I nearly fainted as a sleepy aroma fell over me, obviously being exuded by this plant-girl. I apparently made by Will Save, though, so I continued stammering ineffectually.

"I'm not uncomfotable... I... It's just... I don't know if things are different where you come from, but... um... well... what you're doing is... err... a bit ero... um... erotic..."

And she smiled then, if only slightly. A small laugh escaped her.

"You're only a child inside, aren't you?" I couldn't tell if her tone was affectionate or mocking, but either way, it made me feel even weaker in the knees.

And then, in a flash, several vines appeared out of nowhere, wrapped around me, and pushed me towards her. I found myself lip-locked with her, and I must admit, if she was hoping for a romantic experience, I failed her utterly. It wasn't that she wasn't pretty or anything, but that sudden action threw me into a panic, and since I was already lightheaded, I had to put all my focus into not throwing up (I've thrown up on girls before, when I try talking to them. It's really embarassing). I didn't throw up, though, so at the very least, I held out in the kiss until the vines let go and I stumbled back.

"My name is Princess Venus. Remember that, Ice Wizard. We'll meet again." And with that, she strode (or glided) off, leaving me completely out of breath.

I was still utterly senseless when Matt drifted back over and coyly asked, "So... how'd it go, Nerdrew?"

"I wish Prince Gumball considered girls a useful topic of study. I need to know about them a lot more than science, that's for sure."


	12. Chapter 10

"Betty?"

"Yes, Simon?" the young woman looks up from her notes, which she has been scribbling absentmindedly on the corner of while subsequently trying to study.

"Well, erm…" This was it. He'd been working up on how to ask her for a week now. He'd played around with different wordings, running through each and every possible scenario in his head. Bracing himself for when she'd say no. When, not if. But it didn't hurt to try, he figured. Better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all. Or something like that.

He opens his mouth, ready to deliver the meticulously prepared question. Then, his mind goes blank.

For two seconds, his mouth hangs open, as he mentally scrambles to recover the words. Curses, should have written it down. But he's smart enough to shut his mouth again, so as to avoid looking like some prized mounted bass, once it becomes obvious that the words refuse to come.

"Simon?"

He has to say something now. He's initiated conversation; he can't just leave her hanging. But he can't just ask her out. She probably gets asked all the time. There's no way a busy woman like her could make time for a guy that can't even phrase a creative invitation.

"You look a little dehydrated. Maybe you should go get something to drink.

_You look dehydrated._ He mentally kicks himself. You. Look. Dehydrated. Why had he said THAT?! Couldn't it at least have been, "You look particularly lovely today?" or maybe, "Might I ask what you're working on?" Why couldn't he have asked something a little more socially or mentally engaging?

But the girl does, in fact, pull a compact out of her small, black handbag, examining her reflection. She frowns, closes the compact, and nods.

"You're right. Thank you, Simon. I have a bad habit of not drinking enough when my mind is on other things. I do have a bad case of dark circles, don't I?" she smiles.

It's a trap, he realizes, the ever-famous voice of Admiral Ackbar echoing in his mind. If he agrees, he'll be backhandedly insulting her!

So instead, he answers, "No, not at all. You look wonderful!"

Elizabeth raises an eyebrow.

"Didn't you just say that I looked dehydrated?"

Oops.

"Well, um, only a little bit. But you don't look THAT bad." _THAT bad._ Oh dear lord, why?!

But she seems unoffended. She stands up out of her chair, making for the hallway that contains the nearest water fountain.

Simon stands by the desk, waiting for her to come back. Stepping away now would be akin to arbitrarily abandoning a conversation; he doesn't want to be implicitly rude, and risk ruining his already probably rather shaky reputation.

After a minute or two, Betty comes back. Her rose-pink lips glisten with trace amounts of water. She looks like she got a good drink.

She sits down and turns to him.

"So, is there anything else you needed to talk to me about?"

"Umm…" His limited social compass screams at him to keep the conversation, but her figures that he shouldn't press his luck. He decides to let Betty get back to studying.

"N-no, I should get going, actually."

"Okay."

Simon turns to leave, a little disappointed in himself. Well, another day come and gone, another chance passed up, he tells himself. She'll probably have a new boyfriend tomorrow, considering his luck, and that will be that. They'll probably end up married, and happy, and Betty will go on to be phenomenally successful and eventually have a child who will most likely not be called Gunter…

"Oh, Simon, before I forget," Betty's voice stops Simon in his tracks. He whirls around on his heel, startled, perhaps a little too obviously eager to reply to her."

"Y-yes, Betty?"

"Well, I don't have a lot of work this weekend, and… well, there's something I've been meaning to ask you…"

Beyond all his wildest expectations, Simon finds himself sitting in the local café that weekend, just a table's width apart from the most beautiful girl in the world. Although, it's felt a little more like a two-way job interview than an actual date. As soon as the two of them had sat down with their drinks (Betty with a small latte, Simon with a cup of fine Earl Grey), Betty had hit him with a barrage of questions, all of which he had to stammer out answers for (but really, how are you supposed to all-inclusively answer "what do you look for in a woman?) She had promised, in return, that he could answer any questions that he wanted, but he was starting to realize that all of his questions were really just him trying to determine whether or not he'd make an okay boyfriend.

"So, this might be a bit of a personal question, I'm not sure if I ought to ask you…"

"Go ahead."

"Oh? Um, okay. Well, here goes," his cheeks go slightly flushed, "Are you… are you a virgin?"

Betty raises an eyebrow.

"Why do you ask?"

Simon's cheeks glow a little brighter, and it takes a moment of stammering for him to get out a coherent answer, "I-I guess, I mean, if we're thinking about actually starting a relationship properly, I guess a part of me just wants to know how much experience you've had."

Betty's expression becomes slightly scandalized.

"Excuse me?!"

"I… whoa, okay, that came out wrong, I'm so sorry. I… what I meant was… well, I've never done it, but a lot of the guys talk about it all the time, and I… It's hard to tell whether girls have or not, though, because they don't tend to brag about it, and they might be really into that even if they don't look like they do… like the stereotypes, I mean… But if you have, I don't want to disappoint you. I figure that if you've been that far with other guys, unless they were new at it… which, I mean, they could have been, because you're really amazing… um, and what I meant… ugh, lost track of that train of thought… I guess what I'm trying to say is, I don't have any practice, so if you happen to like to, you know, then I'm afraid I'd be pretty boring. But you're way too amazing to be interested in doing only one thing, from what I've seen, so we could still give this a try if you do actually really like doing that. I just… I felt like I should warn you."

Betty's expression has softened to the point of gentle amusement.

"You're so weird, Simon!" she laughs, her eyes twinkling behind oblong lenses.  
"I know," he sighs, hoping that this sort of "weird" is a good thing.

After a moment, though, she answers.

"Yes, I'm a virgin. Call me outdated if you will, but I suppose I put a lot of value into something like that. I blame it on my upbringing."

"No, no, that's quite all right. My parents were of the same opinion."

"That being said, if I ever met the right man…"

Simon blushes.

And he decides, promptly, to change the subject.

"Okay, um, next question… what's your taste in music like?"

A little time later and after several more, less awkward questions, Betty's watch beeps.

"Wha… is that the time already? Sorry Simon, I need to head out now, I have a lab I need to finish."

"Oh… okay." He tries to keep the disappointment out of his voice. He was honestly enjoying his time with her, and he didn't want it to end this soon. He'd known that she was clever and aspiring to be a doctor, but he hadn't realized how much of a closet nerd she was. Not in a bad way. She caught a lot of his obscure references, and she honestly seemed interested in a lot of the hobbies he had mentioned. But… Would he have this chance again?

He chooses that moment to grow up a little, taking note that if he really likes Betty, he can't just wait for her to ask him out. If he really wants her to know how he feels… nervous or not… he can't wait for "just the right moment." He has to ask. Now.

"Hey Betty… what are you doing next weekend?"

A week later, a happy couple walks into the café, sitting down and chatting over a small latte and a cup of fine Earl Grey.


End file.
